


I of the Storm

by Morningstar (reahthedog)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Pre-Season/Series 01, Wingfic, lucifer arrives on earth, lucifer is disgusted by humanity, lucifer is rash with his actions, mazikeen cuts off lucifer's wings, mazikeen too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reahthedog/pseuds/Morningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He knew he was no longer in hell when the air in his lungs tasted like the freshest thing he'd tasted since he'd fallen."</p>
<p>Set Pre-season 1</p>
            </blockquote>





	I of the Storm

He knew he was no longer in Hell when the air in his lungs tasted like the freshest thing he'd tasted since he'd fallen. He slowly opened his eyes, as if this were some cruel trick, only to be faced with a place he had not seen since it had been created. He didn't know what the humans called it now, but the soft beach and gentle ocean were certainly all-too-familiar.

What was a little new, however, were the towers and bridges; lit and shining against the night sky. Lucifer had turned himself away completely from humanity once they'd started destroying his father's creations. The sort of thing he would never condone, yet his father somehow allowed. It disgusted him massively, but no other angels seemed as disturbed as he.

The sky was dark, the moon shone, but there were so few stars adorning the sky. He let out a low cry of confusion - what had happened to the work of he and his brothers? Had the humans learnt to not only destroy the earth but erase the stars too?

He would not stand for this.

Lucifer moved to stand - only now realizing that he had been sitting - and nearly stumbled. He seemed to have been able to change his form whilst he landed here, and whilst his wings did still curve from his back, his skin was no longer raw and cracking. It instead retained the pinkish softness that it had once adorned in heaven, and the lack of hair on all but his face and head. He missed this feeling, the ability to run a hand over his arm and not wince in pain. It was a sensation he often forgot, having not been faced with it for several years.

He was nude, but that did not surprise him, as clothes were a mere formality in Hell. It had made no sense to him to bring them when he wasn't sure of the customs of earth. It would have made the move a lot harder, anyway. His wings were the brilliant white they had once been, which pleased him. The ashes of hell had stained them, but perhaps the move had cleaned them too. They were as soft as always, half folded behind his back where they belonged. He looked around briefly, seeing the dark figures of what he assumed to be humans running along some form of path. He didn't understand why they ran, if there was nothing to run from. Perhaps they ran because they must. Perhaps they were like him.

Another thing that caught his attention was the condition of the beach. The sands were still as fine as they had always been, though there were less stones then he remembered. But, piled near the edges of the seas and the sands were various plastic vessels. They had the labels of companies he did not recognize. He moved - shakily - towards the nearest one, picking it up gingerly between finger and thumb. It was obviously seen as litter, and he could not see an alternate use for it apart from once containing drinks. It was clear to him that the humans once again had no regard for what they had been presented with as a gift, and instead saw it as a free dumping ground. He threw the bottle with all his might, but there was no satisfying sound to reward him for his outburst. It just fell into the sand, sending a small cloud around it as it fell. His rage did not dissipate, but he wasn't sure what else he could do to dispel it. He moved to throw another bottle when he became aware of footsteps, and turned to see Mazikeen. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he moved to speak, but she beat him to it.

"Lucifer," she began, and he dropped the bottle in response.

"Mazikeen?" His voice cracked, and his throat was dry. Despite this, he spoke again. "I thought you were in Hell? What brings you here?"

She chuckled dryly, "I could ask you the same. I followed you. Why are you here?"

Lucifer thought it a good question, but wasn't too sure how to answer it. Admitting that he wasn't sure didn't seem too good an answer, so instead he ignored her. His eyes raked her form quickly - she looked good. Admittedly, torn flesh wasn't the ideal body shape, and seeing her as she once was lit a small fire in his belly. This place seemed to reverse all the bad, and he liked it in that sense. He dropped his eyes, and noticing the bottle discarded by his feet sent him into a rage once again.

"Do you see what they have done to His creations?" He said bitterly, kicking the bottle away as if it would make it better.

"I do," she said, "but why do _you_  care? I thought you weren't Samael anymore." Lucifer flinched. She continued. "That is something someone loyal to his father would say, not someone who left his controlling father's torture cave."

She was blunt, but he also found her correct.

"Very well," he paused. So long as he was an angel, he would respect his father. He'd lost his role, and many of his powers when he'd fallen. The only thing that remained were his wings. He reached out, brushing his fingers against their soft feathers.

They had to go.

He wasn't entirely sure how, until he saw the demon blade loosely held in Mazikeen's left hand. The idea struck him quickly, and he spoke even quicker. If he thought about this too much, he'd regret it.

"I want you to saw off my wings." He said slowly, eyes entirely trained on the blade in her hand.

"What?" She said, frowning at him.

Lucifer knew she'd try to talk him out of this. He'd always been proud of his wings, preening them even when they were dirtied with ash and it caused his throat to burn. He'd carried them in a higher regard than even himself, and they were always the thing he prided himself on. Mazikeen knew this. Of course she did - being one of the people he trusted most meant that she was often there when he was preening, or there to collect and burn the discarded feathers. He needed them gone before he could fly back up. Before he became Samael again.

"I want you to use that blade and cut off my wings." He spoke again, scowling at her when she tried to argue back. "I do _not_  want you arguing with me. I want them gone, okay?"

She reluctantly agreed, moving to his back with the blade in hand.

The first cut sent searing pain through him, the wings fluttering madly in a desperate attempt to fly him away from the pain. He stood still. At one point, he fell to his knees, sobbing gently.

He still did not let her stop.

Suddenly, the ice hot pain stopped sooner than he expected. His whole back burnt, but his wings did not. He couldn't move them. Lucifer coughed, scarlet staining his lips, and Mazikeen spoke.

"It is done."

She did not sound happy, and he was not happy either. But they were gone and it felt like one of the chains tying him to Hell - and, to a lesser extent, Heaven - were removed. He felt like he could breathe a little easier. He turned to look behind him. The sand was red, the wings splattered with red, and they were damp in places. He suspected they were Mazikeen's tears, but the demon was standing with her back to him, so he could not confirm his suspicions.

He reached out to touch them, but stopped himself. They were no longer a part of him. He was no longer Samael.

Lucifer stood, once again shaking, and looked at Mazikeen. She refused to meet his gaze.

"I am going to find a safe space to keep your wings," She said, and all he could do was nod. "I will meet you back here afterwards, and we can find somewhere to stay. Don't think I am letting you do this alone." With that, she gathered his last link back in her arms, and walked away. He collapsed back onto the sand, wiping the tears from his eyes that he couldn't quite remember shedding.

He was no longer the child his father loved the most.

As his blood stained the sand around him, he let out a soft sigh.

He was free.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote out this little drabble-esque piece as I have no muse at the moment for my longer-chapter fic. I lost the fourth chapter twice, both the original and the rewrite, so I thought getting this out might help with my lack of inspiration. Plus I've always wanted to write something about the fall, I just never got around to it before this.
> 
> Comments and critique are always appreciated, especially on terms of my Lucifer. I'm particularly concerned as to if he sounds OOC or not, hah c:


End file.
